


Child's Play

by iridescere



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Acting, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Anxiety, Fluff, M/M, Phanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:12:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5270993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescere/pseuds/iridescere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s been in hundreds of plays – this should be child’s play, as he himself had so eloquently punned. But today is different. Because Phil is here, in the audience, and he doesn’t think he has been this nervous since, well, ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Child's Play

**Author's Note:**

> first phanfic ever! and first fanfic in, like, three years oops. s/o to my irl friend for beta-ing this, my grammar would never have survived otherwise.
> 
> also, corpsing in theatrical slang is to spoil a piece of acting by forgetting one’s lines or laughing uncontrollably (no dead bodies in this fic)

‘Coffee, Dan?’ One of the stagehands proffers a Starbucks cup to him. At the request of the director, they went out on a coffee errand for the cast and crew, and had just returned bearing several beverages with varying degrees of caffeine. A young and eager bunch of newcomers donned in all black is currently milling around, sipping drinks and gossiping in a casual, relaxed manner – a stark contrast to their stagehanding abilities. Swift and silent, a flash of shadows in the darkness before the lights come on to a completely new setting. 

Shaking his head no, he forces an apologetic smile to his face. The girl shrugs and places the cup on a spare table for others to claim before rejoining her friends. Dan eyes the coffee with a slight wistfulness. Usually, he’ll jump at the chance of free coffee, but for some odd reason (probably due to his failure as a functional human being), coffee has the opposite effect of calming his nerves. Instead, caffeine only serves to make him extremely hyper, and right now he really, really doesn’t need even more butterflies fluttering in his stomach. 

Squaring his shoulders back, he inhales deeply through his nose and begins to pace in the small area backstage, hands stuffed in pockets while muttering his lines under his breath. The starched fabric of his costume scrapes against his skin, his movements slightly stiff, unused to wearing formal attire. The heavy foundation clogs his pores and he resists the itch to scratch his face, lest his nails come back caked with a layer of skin-coloured powder. In an attempt to get into character, to become someone else entirely, he shuts his eyes and envisions himself _being_ the character, but all he can think of behind the blackness of his eyelids is Phil. 

He opens his eyes and realises his hands are shaking. 

_You can do this, Howell, he mentally cheers,_ but even the little voice sounds hesitant, unsure and weak in his own head. _You’ve done it, what? Hundreds of times? Today is no different._

Okay, so maybe it’s closer to two dozen than a hundred. And maybe today _is_ different, because Phil is going to be here, in the audience, watching him perform. 

It’s not like Phil hasn’t seen him perform before – hell, they’ve performed together as a duo on countless occasions in front of a camera and at cons. But in all those previous instances, he played an exaggerated version of Daniel James Howell. Today, he’s playing a completely separate individual – a retired secret agent reluctantly trying to stop an evil twin brother from world domination. In his opinion, that’s as far from Dan Howell as you can get. (Even if he did somehow miraculously have an evil twin brother that he wasn’t aware of, he’s too lazy to ever do any physical activity required of secret agents.) 

For the past two months, he’s been coming for each and every rehearsal despite the long hours and the tiring effect of the atmosphere. Outside of the theatre, he’s been non-stop eating, breathing, and sleeping his lines in an effort to commit those vital words to memory. But the worrying possibility of him blanking out on stage and altogether forgetting them still looms over him, sinister and threatening. Sure, he’s memorised and recited Shakespeare before – a feat he daresay some will not even attempt to achieve – but at least Shakespeare’s lines had a certain rhythm which made them easy to remember. What if he breaks out of character and corpses? It did happen once when he was much younger, a hysterical outburst of laughter in a memory shoved to the back of his head. He’ll never forgive himself if it happens today.

Moreover, lines – pure lines solely aren’t enough to guarantee a stellar performance. You have to have the energy, the charisma, the believability – what if he becomes an anxious, quivering mess on stage? 

To some extent, he always gets pre-show jitters, but it hasn’t been this bad before. His hands haven’t stopped shaking since an hour ago and for a brief moment, he entertains the likelihood of him actually throwing up on stage, before forcibly banishing the negative thoughts with a few shaky breaths. Every single glance at the clock only serves to speed the heart rate of his already pounding chest. He doesn’t think he’s been this nervous about anything since his first play. Actually, come to think of it, that probably isn’t the best comparison, considering he only had 45 seconds of time on stage in an hour-long play. A better comparison would be that time he met Phil at the train station – 

_Focus, Howell._

‘We’re turning off backstage lights in five,’ the stage manager suddenly announces with a glance at her watch, breaking him out of his internal turmoil. All at once, the previously tranquil mood backstage seems to dissipate as the crew slowly comes alive. ‘Sounds, you can start playing house music now. Thirty minutes to show time!’ she rubs her hands enthusiastically. ‘Places, everyone! They’re coming in now!’ 

Even the calming voice of Matt Bellamy over the speakers can’t hide the chatter of the audience as they stream in, striving to find the best seats to watch the performance. Phil said he was going to get a front row seat. Dan will have to ask him later after the show, since the way the stage is lighted is such that nothing can be seen of the audience from the perspective of an actor, including their watchful eyes that will keenly devour the entire play. He’s grateful for that one little mercy.  
He hates plays. He adores acting, but he’d much rather be in a film than on a theatre stage. Plays are too quick, too fleeting – one mistake from someone might be the difference between an excellent show and a terrible performance. Films – you can film a scene over and over again until you attain perfection. Plays – you have to take time out of your own schedule, come down to the venue, and it’s not even guaranteed that you’ll get back your money’s worth. Films – you can watch them wherever you want at your own leisure, a piece of forever preserved in tape. 

The house music fades and the house lights have just been turned off, judging by the sudden ripple of hushed excitement from the audience. Anxiety wells up within him once more; he quells it with a few quick stretches to alleviate the tension. The director’s voice booms through the speakers, proud and steady. This is it. This is his cue. 

‘Ladies and gentlemen, presenting to you–’ 

He takes a deep breath and steps out from behind the curtain, to the bright glare of a spotlight. 

… 

‘Dan!’ A pair of arms tackle him from behind, just barely making him lose his centre of gravity for a moment. The scent of Phil’s familiar body wash fills his senses, and he can’t help the broad grin that spreads automatically over his face. 

The adrenaline of the after show was enough to outweigh the cons of plays alone. He’s already had the opportunity to speak with a few YouTubers friends who were in the area to catch the show, as well as a couple of fans who presented him with bouquets of flowers, which, while Dan is extremely appreciative of, makes him worry over the occurrence of shedding leaves everywhere. 

‘Dan, you were so good! I don’t even have words to describe it. It’s like you were actually James Bond up there, it was just that good,’ Phil rambles from behind, his skinny arms still wrapped tight around his shoulders. He feels Phil lean in closer, his weight pressing more firmly against his own body. When he speaks again, his breath tickles his neck and his voice is dropped to a low almost whisper, causing an involuntary shiver to run through his spine. ‘Also, you definitely need to wear bow ties more often.’ 

‘Oh my god, Phil,’ he laughs, spinning around to face him at last. Phil looks the same as always, dressed in the usual colourful yet casual attire, but there’s something about him that is extraordinary tonight: a beam on his face that would outshine the sun (as cheesy as it sounds) and his bright blue eyes sparkling under the theatre lights. From this proximity, he can make out the flecks of gold and green shimmering amongst the blue. 

In other words, he looks stunning. Dan feels himself suck in a gasp of air. 

‘Dan, I have a confession to make,’ Phil says, unexpectedly turning serious, the smile dropping from his face. Alarmed, a cold slice of fear almost stops his heart, his body tensing and eyes widening, waiting for Phil’s next words with bated breath. 

‘I know it’s customary to bring flowers, but flowers die after like, a week. So I thought I’d buy you a house plant instead, I swear it’s really pretty, and it’s–’ 

‘Phil, you spoon, you scared me for a second,’ he snorts, cutting him off. Relief washes over him, its soothing embrace relaxing his frozen muscles. He’s not sure whether to laugh or cry at the anticlimax and his own twitchy response, so he chooses to just pull Phil into a hug. Hugging Phil is a nice experience, seeing as they are both around the same height, so he doesn’t have to bend his knees and lean down awkwardly to feel the comfort of Phil’s body pressing against him. They’re in the middle of a theatre after all, albeit it’s late and starting to empty out, but it’s the best thing he can offer for the heightened mix of emotions swirling through him. 

‘Sorry,’ Phil giggles in his ear, although his tone of voice suggests he is anything but. Dan pretends to sigh in mock resignation, and Phil snickers again. They both pull back reluctantly after a while, casting a discreet glance around to make sure nobody is paying specific attention to them. 

‘So how does home sound?’ Phil asks, after a slight pause, smoothing the wrinkles from his shirt. 

Dan looks around at the mostly deserted theatre, save for a few stragglers like themselves. ‘Home sounds good,’ Dan smiles, sensing the adrenaline beginning to fade, to be replaced by a weary tiredness. After months of being busy with production, he’s craving for the freedom of lounging in the warm cosiness of his bed. ‘But let me wash off the makeup first. I am not going on the tube looking like this.’ 

He changes out of his costume and makeup and he’s back to being Dan Howell, with Phil Lester by his side, just the way it’s meant to be. 

**Author's Note:**

> if you've enjoyed it, please leave a kudos and feel free to head to my tumblr at iridescere.tumblr.com for more stuff!


End file.
